


It's Just Overkill

by dysphorie



Series: drabble drabble, bitch bitch [5]
Category: John 5 - Fandom, Marilyn Manson (Band), Slipknot (Band)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Guitars, Hand & Finger Kink, I Don't Even Know, I can't do freeform tags on mobile apparently, Kissing, M/M, RPF, Singing, Songfic, i guess, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23759860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dysphorie/pseuds/dysphorie
Summary: "Day after day it reappears,Night after night my heartbeat shows the fear"Or, Jim's just full of surprises
Relationships: John 5/Jim Root
Series: drabble drabble, bitch bitch [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1488107
Comments: 19
Kudos: 17





	It's Just Overkill

**Author's Note:**

> The song Jim is playing is "Waiting For My Real Life To Begin", by Colin Hay. 
> 
> This is like the fic equivalent of sketching. Just...needed to get something out to exercise my brain. Hence why it's a bit different from my usual.
> 
> Also the working title was "Anyway, Here's Wonderwall" but the fic went in a direction I didn't expect. Who knows what could've been...

It is a Known Fact that guitarists like to noodle around on their instruments. You leave one in the presence of a guitar and the air will be full of picking and plonking and all sorts of twanging before you have a chance to rethink your actions. Because let's face it: not every guitarist is Yngwie Malmsteen. 

That's thankfully not the case here though, and John thanks his lucky stars every time Jim picks up a guitar that he's with someone so talented, they can make even the most absent-minded fingerpicking sound like the sweetest serenade. It's not just in his skill; John's a skilled guitarist too, but there's just something about the sound Jim draws from the strings that sends shivers up John's spine. It's in his long elegant fingers and the way they caress the neck of the instrument with the same care that they wrap around John's wrists and throat.

Trouble is, Jim hates being watched. It's one thing when he's _actually_ performing, because then he's set his face and his frame of mind and can tune out the rest of the world. John has to agree, it's _much_ less scary to play in front of a crowd of nameless, faceless bodies than it is to play for just one person. Intimacy is difficult, in many and various ways. It's not that he won't jam with someone else in the room, he just hates being the main focus of that person.

So, John makes sure to busy himself; he'll read, or get caught up browsing instagram for hours and not even realise Jim's stopped playing, sometimes plug headphones into his little practice amp and do some noodling of his own. It's not like, _A Thing_. It's just their life together.

Or it was. Then Jim had to go and upend shit and cause John quite frankly undeserved emotional stress.

Jim's in his favourite chair, strumming an acoustic rather than one of his beloved Teles, those long fingers quietly picking and plucking and hammering the strings. John's curled up on the living room couch, engrossed in an article about preventing microphone feedback from the bridge pickup of Teles with the help of 50's-style surgical tubing. Fascinating stuff. So engrossed is he, that he's mostly tuned out the outside world. 

_Mostly._

His ears prick up, unsure, uncertain. Did he...did he hear something? It sounded like someone singing. Glancing towards the stereo, John sees the record has stopped spinning. Hmm. Maybe…?

Nah. Must've just been the tail end of the last song. Nothing more. No big. Internally shrugging, John turns back to his reading, trying to spot the line he'd paused at. 

Wait. Was the record _ever_ spinning? Now John can't remember if Jim was playing over the music or with the music or was Jim the only thing making music at all?

_"I'll stand on the bow…"_

Now _that_ , John heard. Slowly he lifts his head, as if scared to frighten off a grazing deer, fixes his eyes on Jim.

_"Come crashing down, down, down…"_

He's partially turned away from John, so he can't quite see all ofJim's face. John can see his eyes are closed though. Probably picturing the lyrics behind his eyelids as he continues to sing. John's practically holding his breath. Jim _never_ sings. Never. Even when John pleaded and whined and begged, Jim never relented, utterly convinced his voice was too terrible to subject anyone to, even John who is almost proud of his inability to vocally carry a tune. All his talent went into his hands, Jim said, and John couldn't really disagree with that.

_"But don't you understand, I already have a plan…"_

But he's singing. Jim's _singing,_ his voice quiet and husky and utterly uncertain but pressing on regardless. John slides until he's lying down, head resting on the arm of the couch. From there he just... watches. Jim's eyes are still closed, lost in his own little world as his voice grows a little stronger with each lyric. Lucky for John, because if Jim knew he was being stared at he'd clam up and burn with embarrassment. 

_"When I woke today, suddenly, nothing happened. But in my dream, I slew the dragon."_

Of course, as soon as he finishes his song he'll notice John watching and want to die of shame anyway, but that's a problem for future John. Because there's no way he's risking missing a second by pretending to read his magazine. 

_"And you said, just be here now, forget about the past, your mask is wearing thin..."_

A tear John was trying to pretend wasn't there finally slips out of his eye to soak into the couch cover. He blinks hard a few times, trying to clear the film from his vision. This isn't a time to be crying. Jim's voice is beautiful; sonorous and sweet, and sure John's chest is aching with an emotion he can't name, but it's nothing to _cry_ over.

_"Just let me throw one more dice, I know that I can win…"_

Oh fuck. Another tear, another tug in his chest. _Don't fucking sniff, John, if you sniff he'll hear you and stop and ugh, pull yourself together._ Pulling his sleeve down over his hand, John covers the lower half of his face, biting down on the fabric as Jim hits notes John didn't know he was capable of. His shaggy brown hair is falling across his face but John can see it; the earnest emotion etched into the creases that shift and move like waves with every word. 

Ok, maybe a _small_ sniff wont be noticed.

_"Be still my love, open up your heart, let the light shine in,"_

John chokes back a quiet sob as Jim hits the highest note of the song, still so quiet but it fills the room, warm and clear and burying itself right in the middle of John's heart. 

_"I'm waiting for my real life to begin…"_

The lyrics fade out as the guitar softens, barely audible. The tension in John's chest loosens as Jim's face relaxes. A tiny smile tugs at the corners of his lips. John can tell by the way his beard twitches. Jim feels this. Jim _means_ this.

_"On a clear day, I can see, for a very long way…"_

John sucks in a baited breath, knowing what's coming. Apprehensive. Desperate. 

_"On a clear day, I can -"_

Jim hits the word _see,_ and John's never heard someone hold a note for so long at such a low volume in his life. It seems to stretch forever, and John wishes it would. Never wants this bubble to pop like he knows it will as soon as the song ends.

_"For a very long way, yeah, yeah yeah, yeah yeeeeaaaah…"_

He doesn't give Jim a chance to catch him staring. John's on his feet before the last words have died out, and he's pulling the guitar from Jim's hands and tumbling into his lap before Jim can say a word. Hands cupping Jim's face, John seals their mouths together and kisses the air from Jim's lungs. As if he could inhale the beauty and strength of his voice and keep it with him forever because he's not convinced this will ever happen again. 

It's ok if it doesn't. He might never hear Jim's voice like that again and that's fine. It doesn't matter as long as he has Jim's hands strong on his hips, his breath in his mouth, his heartbeat against John's. Their real lives, as far as John's concerned, have begun.

**Author's Note:**

> dysphorie-dot-png.tumblr.com


End file.
